I want Tony Barber back . . .
I want Tony Barber back. I want Alyce Platt back. I
only want one 'Fast Money' session, with a 60 second duration only. No
half-arsed half-minute gigs. I want Fran Powell as THE
adjudicator, and instead of some Pick-A-Box/It's Academic amalgam
as a prize smorgasbord, the perfect panoply of pressies should include
either a Holden Commodore and a Holden Barina or a couple of Audis.
But I really want Tony Barber back.
Why this fixation on the man who could never run in a
straight line? Why am I so keen to dump Glen Ridge who is a very nice
guy I'm sure. Well dear reader, let me take you back through my
personal history, when Pete Smith warmed up the audience at the GTV-9
Richmond studios, when the dark guy from Miami Vice got his
face on the board, and I had the soul-warming experience of taking a
turn at Sale Of The Century myself.
The year was 1988. The Bicentennial was in full flood.
George Bush was getting ready to slip into Ronald Reagan's
presidential pyjamas. Ben Johnson was enjoying lots of herbal teas
before sprinting at the Seoul Olympics. And I was flown down to
Melbourne via TAA, put up in the St Kilda Travelodge and then asked
some fairly probing questions by Mr Barber.
Before I jousted at this particular trivia windmill,
I'd followed Sale rather desultorily. I recalled Tony's work
with Barbie Rogers on The Great Temptation, where she was the
epitome of early 70s classy barrel-girl style.
Victoria Nicholls had been and gone, and Delvene
Delaney by then had married Strop and was living in Byron Bay. I
myself was just starting a career of avoiding work, and had finally
been prompted into taking the Sale test at North Sydney Leagues
Club. Fifty questions later I'd passed the first hurdle, been brought
up in front of some talent (or lack thereof) scouts who asked me some
intimate questions and took a Polaroid photo of me that would make The
Bill's mug shots look like Marie Claire.
So there I was, inveigled into the audience of Sale,
awaiting my turn to leave my seat and move into the line of Tony
Barber's questioning fire. The episodes taped before mine dragged
somewhat, although I did get the chance to share some friendly words
with ex-lead singer of Moving Pictures, Alex Smith. The What About
Me? man was on before me, and as a rock & roll road warrior,
the gas oven he won in the gift shop must've come in useful. Then it
was my turn.
I'd been prepped by the producers and assistants. My
glass of water stood ready, the buzzer looked as huge as Uluru, and
was as sensitive to the touch as Monica Lewinsky is now. Some great
bearded bear of a man who was the carry-over champion sat to my far
left; in between us sat a woman who must've served as a centrefold for
Librarian's Monthly.
I'd been led out by one of those gorgeous women who
really do only appear on TV. Alyce said some pleasantries by way of
introduction, Tony grilled me sparingly, where I made my youthful
embarrassments obvious to the millions who'd watch the taped episode
later. It was time . . .
Twenty or so minutes later, the trial was over. I'd
found the buzzer an impediment; every time I knew the answer the damn
thing was too slow. The carry-over champ was as one with the question
and answers, and swept ahead to an early lead that wasn't really
challenged. I'd tried pre-empting Tony, wiped my sweaty hands
repeatedly, looked at the monitors for support, raised a few giggles
from the audience with my silly grin. My big moment came in the final
pick of the board, where I correctly identified the Globe Theatre
(see, my B.A. in English did have meaning!), and almost all the cast,
crew and observers wondered at how I knew the answer so quickly. But
it was all to know avail; I scored $10 for my score, and finished up
with the stick pin, the board game and a score of $60.
I was about $50 shy of the champ. Alyce Platt gave me
a smile that won my heart and said "Well done Andrew, any other
night you would've won . . . " and then my part in the play was
over. The champ took the cars and left at the end of the taping, the
librarian-look-alike didn't move off her starting score, and I got a
limo back to the Travelodge. I'd had my 15 minutes of fame, tacked on
some extra time supposedly scaring the bear who beat me, seen the Tony
Barber LP's hidden underneath his stand. And that was the end of my Sale
Of The Century odyssey.
And so, when I see Glenn and Nikki querying and
modelling away I can't see the fun, the excitement, the glory that is Sale
in 1998. My mind is back 10 years, in the halcyon days of Mr Barber
and the beautiful 'Sparky'.
Bring back Tony!
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